


A Fixed Compass Point

by GretchenSinister



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, there should actually be two Nicholas St. Norths in the character tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:44:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "So, there’re quite a few differences between the books and the movie! How about each meets the other? I can’t do this one myself because I haven’t read the books yet, but I’d love to see what y'all made of it.(completely optional!!) suggestions:I can’t help but think movie Pitch would loathe book Pitch, especially taking into consideration movie-Pitch’s prequel comic. You don’t have to include my personal headcanon (that he wouldn’t have actually hurt Jamie, no matter what he said about “more than one way to snuff out a light”) but I’m not gonna lie, I would be happy if you did. XD …without woobifying him. :O Melodramatic snarky Pitch who calls the Guardians weirdos is the Pitch I want!I could see movie Bunny being intimidated (or rather, vehemently not intimidated at all thank you very much) by book Bunnymund...[cut for length]"I couldn’t figure out where I wasn’t supposed to go with book and movie Tooth, and I only ever read Nicholas St. North and the Battle of the Nightmare King, so this story has book North meeting movie North. Because it is December and we need AS MUCH NORTH FIC AS POSSIBLE. Oh, and remember how movie North has a mysterious layer in his nesting doll? I do.





	A Fixed Compass Point

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 12/3/2014.

The handsome man with the short brown beard looks directly into North’s eyes, as few can, and says that he’s his past. North looks him over, taking in his long coat, his fur hat, the swords at his sides, and thinks that it’s probably true. The man has a mischievous, bandit’s grin, and North thinks that he doesn’t mind this man being part of his truth at all. But there’s something about the way he introduces himself as “Nicholas St. North!” that makes North wonder if he understands that North has more pasts and more truths than him.   
  
“Join me for a drink, then, yes?” North says. “Though all are welcome in my house, my past must be more welcome than most.”  
  
“So you don’t remember being me?” Nicholas St. North asks as they sip vodka from small, beautiful cut-glass cups in front of the fire. “I suppose I had better start keeping a journal then. How long does your memory go back? I don’t have a lot of people to ask questions to when it comes to being a wizard.”  
  
North smiles. “I remember lots of things, and my memory goes back a long, long time. Yours only goes back to when you were a little child, I guess?”  
  
“I don’t know that I’d want it to go back farther! But, wait–how can  _your_  memory go back farther? That seems more like something Bunnymund would be able to do. Did you learn it from him?”  
  
North shakes his head. “Seems to have happened on its own.”  
  
“Interesting,” Nicholas St. North says. “There’s more to learn than I ever thought in becoming a wizard.”  
  
North nods in agreement, though he wouldn’t describe himself as a wizard. He is a Guardian, and as he understands it, that is something very, very different.  
  
“How long do you think it will be before you start introducing yourself as Santa Claus, instead of Nicholas St. North?” North asks.  
  
Nicholas St. North laughs. “I think you’d be able to answer that question better than me! Santa Claus! So I name myself after Santoff Claussen, eh? Well, it is—was?–a good place, and its remnants are more splendid than ever,” he says, looking from the fireplace to take in the walls of books, the globe, the high windows.  
  
“Thank you,” North says, neglecting to tell him that in most of his memories, this place is called simply the North Pole, the Pole, or the Workshop. It is not the remnants of anything save dreams, and no tree ever left a stump that provided the massive wooden beams around them. “Is it all right if I ask you a few questions?”  
  
“Go ahead,” Nicholas St. North says, lifting his drink to North.  
  
“What do you know about St. Nicholas?”  
  
Nicholas St. North shrugs. “Doesn’t sound familiar, save that the name is parts of my own rearranged.”  
  
“Hmm.” North turns toward the fire, but continues watching him out of the corner of his eye. This next one will be an even longer shot. “And do you know anything of Odin?”  
  
“Can’t say that I do,” Nicholas St. North says. “Are they people I should watch out for in the future?”  
  
“Perhaps,” North says.  _You will never know your bones stolen, you will never know your eye sacrificed. How can you claim to be my past without knowing these things?_  
  
“I should have guessed you wouldn’t give me a straight answer,” Nicholas St. North says. “Bunnymund goes on about the rules of time travel, and you’ve had more time to hear about them than me.”  
  
This time, North raises his glass to the other. This Nicholas St. North is so confident in himself, so confident that he is North’s past that his particular memories grow clearer by the moment–the village of Santoff Claussen, the bear, Katherine, Ombric, the automaton, a Pitch that he is glad holds but little sway in the memories of the one North knows, enough memories to fill a shark’s mouth. North smiles to himself. Yes, it is the past of a legend, and he knows he could grow to like being Nicholas St. North. But it is so clear. Nicholas St. North is a man, and he’s a man whose life, wonderful and magical as it is, could be written down in books from beginning to end, and even using words, nothing would be left out.  
  
North, Santa Claus and Guardian of Wonder, is not this way. Though he is certainly not a saint and not precisely a god, he looks like a man more than he is one. And though Nicholas St. North’s magic may be wizardry,  _his_  is not—should not be, cannot be. But magic there is enough, and they are similar enough, that the longer they spend together, the more they overlap.   
  
Selfishly or selflessly, North does not want that for the world he inhabits and the children he protects with the other Guardians.  
  
Fortunately, he will not need to explain to Nicholas St. North about what it means to be someone who cannot be written down in one string of words. He understands this as time travel, after all, and he is canny enough to believe the words of the one he thinks of as his future self.  
  
“Speaking of such rules,” North says, “we have almost spent enough time together as is good to do. Do you not feel strange?” He asks this last partly out of curiosity, partly to plant the idea in the other’s head. There is not any reason for Nicholas St. North to be affected in any way, and, of course, he is not even a wizard quite yet. There is no reason for him to notice anything at all.  
  
Nicholas St. North nods. “To tell you the truth, I feel as much myself as ever. But in this case, I know I ought to trust myself.” He looks around again. “I wouldn’t want to jeopardize any of this.” He turns to North. “But, I confess, I learned the spell to come here from a book, and the book did not come with me. I don’t know how to get back.”  
  
“But you will learn,” North says.  
  
Nicholas St. North’s eyes light up. “Of course!” he says.  
  
North just smiles again. He’ll learn, of course, but not what he thinks. North stands and goes to the mantle, taking a snow globe from its place there. “Take Nicholas St. North home,” he whispers. “Take him home to stay.” He turns towards Nicholas. “Now watch!” He throws the snow globe into a corner of the room, where it explodes in a swirl of color and light. North thinks he can see a huge tree through the portal, and this must be right, for Nicholas smiles hugely.   
  
“Well,” he says to North. “I’m sure this has been exactly how you remember it, though it seems a bit mysterious to me now. All my compliments on your beard, though. I look forward to being you later.”  
  
“I hope it will be exactly as you imagine,” North says, inclining his head as Nicholas steps through the portal with a wave.  
  
North knows the moment he’s home, as Nicholas’ life fades into one of many. He grins again, thinking of his red coats and green coats and white coats, of being tall and small and lean and fat, of being only good and of working with the Krampus, of being mortal and immortal, of being always in danger and untouchable, and of holy myrrh that tastes like Coca-cola.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> bowlingforgerbils said: This was wonderful, just how I imagine it would go.


End file.
